To Love A Girl
by ignoringhumans
Summary: my heartbeat is constantly bound to the consecutive steps she makes around the school hallways.


To love a girl with broken poems on her creased wrists, to love a girl with sickeningly locks of auburn hair. To love a girl with the voice of soft hands on soft scarlet velvet, to love a girl with depth beyond the intergalactic void we call home. Is not like the movies.

I suppose I was the only one who saw her, my sweet Andria. The epitome of the word girl but still she carelessly leaves broken glass shards down my throat, scratching out my lungs anytime I see her ever so much as exist near to me. I guess that's why I can't breathe half the time. I sighted her in my last year of school, a bouncy little fresh mental disorder to come through the gates of Willson High, she among many others, sick with purity and deadly soft eyes. Never had her lips touched the lid of vodka bottles, or the light orange end of a cigarette, she hadn't even seen midnights with her round eyes. Her cherry lips just like her thighs, voluminous and soft; only within a hand's reach. She was a ponderous angel, her eyes wide after every Literature class. Her hands always placed together with elegance beyond this time, beyond this era, beyond this galaxy, beyond my heart's capacity to beat every time the daylight touched her teeth.

What made my obsession grow was the bus rides home, her freckled thighs placed on top of the seat in front of her. Her famous blue raincoat fallen away like a ancient Greek temple to reveal a skirt lying precariously close to showing the joining of her thighs. My eyes darkened, my filthy heart stopped when she got off at the same lonely red bus shelter as I did. What made my eyes darken and my filthy heart stop was the way she skipped two houses down from mine. What made my eyes darken and my filthy heart stop was the fact that her heartbeat was ever so close to mine. Sometimes when I walked further down the street in an attempt to gain fresh air, I would sit in amongst her rotting rose garden I would hear her screaming with glee to a little sister, a mother, a father. I heard her excited voice fade in and out the window, I heard her sing the daylights of some horrid pop song. No depth in its words but the way her voice lurched out with the same care as the pathetic writer of this cruel song to script my heart reaching for hers. Was a torment? She was a torment; I knew if I were to try to even gaze at her with a purpose to meet hers, like most, she would cower from me. But maybe it was the other way round? That blue raincoat makes my blood rot and my soul cry with upmost fear for my own sanity. I hated her. I hated Andria Dispute the newest captor of my livid heart.

"Mother dearest don't you fret so!" She cried mockingly to her distressed mother the next morning. I continued to walk, red bus shelter flooding into my sight through the rain. Which I believe was the cause for Mrs. Dispute's distress but most of the folk in Willson enjoy the soft pelting of the rain, her sun drenched family would have to come to terms with the soggy town.

"Andria, Andria, Andria gosh" I heard her muttering behind me, how did she walk so quickly? The idea of the ginger mess being behind me made me tremble, my bus pass barely being able to be held in my hand as I passed it over the tagging machine. I tensed as I saw only two seats left; I sat by the window and braced myself, knowing what was to come.

"Urm sorry but can I sit by the window?" the little she-devil! Her voice rubbing against the layers of my heart, her America accent driving me crazy, it's all I can hear bouncing up and down the halls at lunchtime as she runs carelessly with her little friends. I got up in silence, I would not give into her, trying to get out of her way as she brushed passed me to the window seat, the bus jolted; chaotically throwing her into my arms. Face to face with my angel, my curse, and my writing muse. I was left sitting, and her uncomfortably laying on my lap, my arms were around her and her eyes were on mine. She was properly looking at me, her gray eyes like dead butterfly wings crushed next to her dilating pupils, as certain as a black hole in our universe. Her eyes sucked in my soul and my light and every inch of moral standards and conventional sanity I could of possibly have possessed. Ah but she smelt of overpowering girlish perfume but it could not mask the green rain scent of her skin. We stayed there in a frozen moment and she gazed at me curiously, did she see it in my eyes? I closed my eyes trying not to betray what's inside. I let her slip from my arms as she climbed to the crying window pain seat. And I sat motionless, with only her perfume in my lungs staring at her scuffed shoes bouncing up and down to the beat of that shitty pop song.


End file.
